I have plenty of pet peeves. I’m slowly dwindling them down, since I’ve come to the point that if I don’t change my outlook, I won’t be able to go in public anymore. To the woman in the grocery store, wearing Spongebob pajama pants, with muddy hems, I forgive you. To the reporter on NPR with the nasty cotton mouth, I am moving on. Dogs in sweaters… it’s not your fault, but your owner is on my last nerve. There are only a couple “unforgivables” left on my list since this liberation, and one of them is celebrity gossip. If you are someone who enjoys tabloids and discussing the lives of strangers, then I internally hope that you will find yourself on the Gaza strip to see that there is real shit going on in the world beyond Taylor Swift’s cats. Yet, this is the odd headwaters of my post. As much as I despise celebrity worship, I have been downright grieving since the news of Anthony Bourdain’s suicide broke. As headlines plastered his M/O of “celebrity chef”, I felt so ridiculous choking up at the thought that he is gone. Here I am though, one of those first world idiots that I hate so much, combing through every article about him, hoping to find something new and enlightening to ease the shock of his death. I’m not going to talk about suicide here. It’s the only thing I hear while the news breaks-out; Bourdain family interviews and what to do if a loved one is struggling. It’s a horrible decision that everyone has the right to make. So let’s just leave it at that.
Parts Unknown is basically burned into the screen of my TV. I don’t often venture through new shows or sit with attention to the tube. If the TV is on, I’m usually painting, cleaning or cooking, and for the past few years, that meant Bourdain was narrating in the background of all of these activities. Naturally, his voice became comforting, like a lullaby for a newborn. Every time I’d replay an episode, even if it were the 4th time seeing it, there would always be a moment that I would stop what I was doing and look up to see the subject in his narrative, sucking me into the places and people he met, the food he experienced, the empathy and understanding he showed. Not only that, but his writing….. Uggggh his writing. His voice reading like a travel journal as the camera follows his shadow into the next scene. His dialect, while typically dripping with sarcasm or cynicism, also comes cloaked in humility, knowing when to make a crude joke and when to genuinely look another human in the eyes with understanding that we are all the same. When his voice chimes in as a shot of the sky scape or monument of the featured location clears to focus, it is impossible to not stand at attention and let him draw you into the magic that is the world.
I’ve recommended his show to everyone I know, referred to episodes in conversation for what I’d learned, and foolishly tried to replicate exotic meals he was filmed famously nodding in acceptance of, through the first bites. I actually understand why no one took my word for it when I begged them to watch him. I get it. Those keywords: ‘Celebrity Chef’ and ‘‘Travel Show’ sound like all the others. Gimmicky chef game shows, hosts babbling in stage kitchens and tours of the luxurious, wealthy Western-friendly hotels located just outside of hidden 3rd world poverty, are NOT what Bourdain did. In fact, he seemed to be the antithesis of anything and everything flashy. Usually in his white linen button down, with rolled up sleeves and a confident, tall, don’t fuck with me stance- think Chewbacca- he was one part tattooed, silver fox, bad-ass and one part soft spoken, eye locking, defender of humanity. His agenda for each episode was to show us knuckle-dragging Americans that every culture, has an identity; variables that make it unique, beautiful, worth a trip to. That may be what made me fall so deeply in love with Bourdain’s work: his determination to show America that we are no different, and definitely not better, than any other citizen of the world.
Iran is my favorite episode by far. The West has villainized this country as part of the ‘Axis of Evil’ which is heavily mentioned by Iranians in this episode in disbelief and in turn, Bourdain describes his visit like this:
"I am so confused. It wasn't supposed to be like this — of all the places, of all the countries, all the years of traveling, it's here, in Iran, that I am greeted most warmly by total strangers."
We cannot know what we have not experienced and Parts Unknown proves this. It is neither a food, nor a travel show. It is a robust documentary on culture and the modernization of society affecting some of these traditions, for better and worse. Some of the most satisfying moments of his experiences are when seated around a family table, dishing a plate of beautiful, colorful piles of steaming goodness. Every time, mentioning how lovely and delicious it looks, almost unnaturally polite for him. It reminds viewers that no matter where in the world you are, a home-cooked meal deserves an overabundance of respect and gratitude.
Of course, when I feel any emotion, bad or good, my thoughts wander to how I can paint it. I hunched over my watercolor pad, sketching this out, as Bourdain’s voice echoed on screen through episodes I can practically quote. I used his image from the “Borneo” episode as my tribute, or nerdy fan art, whatever interpretation works. There has always been something about that photo. Each time I scroll down the little Netflix thumbnails, that one always strikes me. Rain weighing him down as he docks during a storm, looking down-trodden but willing to take the power and might of other places to the end. The lotus flower was added to the bottom because of it’s representation in death: to carry on the wisdom of the Earth when we leave. Perhaps I am not surprised that he went out this way. His general open attitude toward depression was part of the refreshing reason I fell into his spell. His voice documenting his adventures not unlike that of my beloved Steve Zissou in his fictional hayday of success but with an underlying tone of self-hatred.
Anthony Bourdain is my hero. My ultimate dream of the way to live, but unfortunately, not the way to die. I hope anyone who decides to dangerously start Parts Unknown, post-Mortem, know that he will lock you in as a fan for life, but make your heart ache that his travels are tragically, permanently, felt by millions, over.